


Stay - (The One with Confessions)

by JulesD (julesdrenages)



Series: Stay [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesdrenages/pseuds/JulesD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay - (The One with Confessions)

**Author's Note:**

> . Special dedication (and many thanks) to LeonaDracontis (you can read her lovely fics here: http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeonaDracontis/pseuds/LeonaDracontis), who was so kind to proof-read some paragraphs for me and sweet enough to always support me while I wrote myself in too many corners.
> 
> . English is not my first language and this fic was mostly un-beta'd. I've scanned it several times, but if there are still mistakes and typos here and there please, forgive me. I'll do my best to fix them.
> 
> . Lovely loreleya91 (http://loreleya91.tumblr.com/) was so kind to translate this into Russian. You can read it here: http://ficbook.net/readfic/1761443

-          …thus, I’d like to thank all of you for your hard work. We’d never made it this far without anyone of you guys. Kitahara will be your captain from now on: I trust him to be able to bring the best out of the team and I trust you to help him all along. As third years, we take our leaves with the firm belief that this team will still do great things in the future. Thank you!

Takao bowed his head low and felt, more than saw, Midorima doing the same beside him. When he looked up again, it was at the sound of cheers and clapping hands. Before he knew it, he’d been caught up in a bear hug and had to spoke words of confort to several emotional first years. He grinned at his left, but Midorima had turned away and was not looking at him. Takao shrugged, his teammate never the one for physical contact, and went back to reassuring a terrified Kitahara.

*

_Takao had been appointed captain in his third year. They’d seen it coming, given his age, experience on the court and strong personality, not to mention the dedication he showed to the team. Takao had taken his role very seriously from the start, setting the example for all the club members: he was the first to arrive at practice and the last one to go home, he trained hard and coordinated the others, he dutifully reported to Nakatani all his insights and received advices in return. He had assisted the managers with the applications for the following year, held tests and trials, ranked the rookies and welcomed them all in the team. He projected confidence, his talent on the court was undeniable and widely recognized and he looked approachable enough not to scare the freshmen off._

_Midorima thought the role suited him, and if he - as the only other veteran and, above all, Takao’s friend and classmate – had to shoulder the new Captain’s doubts and worries on breaks, hear him rant and ask for advice at lunch, reassure him every now and then with a few chosen words, it was fine. Another person would have called it endearing, but Midorima was not such sap._

_What he hadn’t expected, though, was the sting in his chest as they brought some necessary adjustments to their routine: for example, it wouldn’t have been proper for the captain to be seen carting their ace around on a rickshaw as a chaffeur (after two years, nobody believed Takao could win a single round of rock-paper-scissors anymore); Midorima was used to stay after practice to shoot some more, but Takao, that had usually kept him company and taken advantage of it to do some exercises himself, at that point was already revising the day activities and planning the training schedule for the following week; he usually left at a different time, as well; during practice, it was one of Takao’s jobs to order everyone in the team, ace included, around and point out mistakes to make the team grow. Midorima was not a petty child and had accepted the changes without complaints, but there was still something a bit off-putting in watching the freshmen trail after Takao at every moment, much like ducklings following their mother, in seeing Takao give them every bit of his attention, answering questions, dispensing advices, offering help with the basics, telling stories about past games, an open smile always plastered on his face. They loved him, and reasonably so. Who wouldn’t have loved a caring older brother, strict when it was needed, friendly when it counted? Midorima thought of Ootsubo, looked again at Takao and admitted the former had done a fine job with them._

_Takao missed their old routine and had been a bit worried by the growing distance between them, or so he had said on a warm day, while they were eating lunch on the roof:_

-          _I’m not giving you the cold shoulder, Shin-chan, it’s just that… I have to take care of many more people now, and I trust you to be fine on your own. I don’t want to leave you alone at practice or make you think I don’t care about your form but… some of the midgets keep puking after standard training, many of them need to be shown the basics, they’re disoriented with our regimen and worry a lot and… I’m just one So please, I’m going to tell this to the others as well, don’t think I’ve cut my private time with you regulars because I don’t give a shit about you guys. It’s the opposite: I have so much faith in your talent and judgement that I trust your self-awareness on the court completely. Especially yours, Shin-chan. But of course you can always come to me if there’s something you feel like discussing – any time, got it?_

_Years together had made them comfortable with each other, but Takao was rarely this open with his thoughts and the effort was visible in the tightness at the corner of his lips and the nervous blinking. When he was finished, Midorima sighed and looked at him like he'd grown a pair of wings:_

-          _What are you talking about, you fool? Of course you have to care for the freshmen more. Captain Ootsubo didn’t spend his time checking on senpai Miyaji and senpai Kimura!_

_Takao watched him with wide eyes and then laughed in earnest:_

-          _‘course not! He was too busy yelling at us, wasn’t he?_

_A soft breeze blew his laught away. The omni-present sting in Midorima’s chest bloomed into unexpected warmth._

_A few weeks from the Inter High, Coach Nakatani fell ill. It was nothing serious, but the fever was nasty enough to block him in bed for several days. With the Coach indisposed it was up to the Captain to coordinate the trainings. Things went quite well, all in all, though Midorima didn’t miss the lack of energy in Takao’s passes and his disattention._

_When they stayed behind that day, Midorima brought it up:_

            _-  Takao._

            _\- Mh?_

            _\- Your coordination with Kitahara is an essential point of our attack patterns. We can’t face any opponent with the kind of gameplay you showed today._

_That had sounded harsher than he meant, but when Midorima realized it, it was already too late and Takao had snarled:_

-          _Yeah, but if I don’t make the reserves strenghten their basics we won’t even be able to afford a sostitution; which might be needed, given, as you kindly pointed out, my and Kitahara’s poor performance!_

_Midorima flinched._

-          _That’s not what I…_

-          _I know – Takao interrupted raising a hand in front of him – I know. And what you said it’s true: you could have phrased it a bit better, Your Bluntness, but it’s true. And so it’s what_ I _said. Sato may not be able to play all the matches from start to finish, not at Inter High level, and Yamada’s stamina worries me as well. If we don’t sub them at the right moments, they won’t last two days into the tournament. I know that Kitahara and I have played better, but if I don’t prepare the others properly that will be the last of our problems. I know I’m taking a gamble but the decision is taken._

_The ‘let’s hope is the right one’ hanged in the air, unspoken. With that, Takao hit the showers leaving a bewildered Midorima behind._

-          _Captain, can I show you my shot? I’ve done all the exercises but they won’t go in!_

-          _Senpai Takao, I think I’m doing something wrong with my wrists here…_

-          _Takao-san, do you think I’ll have to lower my center mor-_

_Miura fell silent, a looming presence behind him. The group of first-years peered behind their shoulders and shuddered at the sight of their haughty ace looking pointedly at each of them. Midorima never spoke to them._

_Takao cocked an eyebrow at him, frowning._

-          _What’s the matter, Shin-chan?_

_Midorima ignored him and addressed the freshmen directly, one by one:_

-          _Your form is off balance. Your movements are too stiff. You are not using your legs at all. Come. I’ll show you how it’s done._

 _He moved towards the hoop they usually reserved for his shooting. Miura and the others gaped at him in total disbelief. This was Midorima Shintarou, shooting guard of the Generation of Miracles, silent ace of Shutoku, and he was offering to_ tutor _them?_

_Midorima half-turned his head and glared at the frozen, quivering group:_

-          _Well?! – he barked._

_They rushed towards the balls with a loud:_

-          _Yes, Midorima-san!!!_

_Takao stared at him with questioning eyes. Obviously, he had no objection to Midorima, of all people, giving tips on how to shoot and defend, but…_

-          _Takao-kun?_

-          _What is it, Kitahara?_

-          _Are you finished with the midgets?_

-          _It seems I am… - he admitted, watching bewildered as Midorima corrected postures and demostrated moves._

-          _Wanna give a look at those new schemes?_

_Takao turned to Kitahara so fast he thought his neck would snap._

-          _…sure!_

-          _Cool, let’s take the other hoop, I’ll call the others._

_Takao followed him, glancing back at the small practicing group. Midorima chose that moment to lift his head and their eyes met: Takao’s smile was apologetic, thankful and very, very proud. Midorima pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, attention back to his new pupils._

_He blamed physical exertion for the bright pink spots on his cheeks._

*

Shuutoku’s players exited the locker room together, adrenaline from the game not quite dissipated yet: the first years were still commenting the best actions from the match with bright eyes and Takao, as he teased them and joked with them, thought he’d never felt happier in his life.

They parted ways at the end of the vast hallway, with the promise of throwing a celebration party in a couple of days: some of the boys took the nearest exit, headed to the train station, others went back to the courts to watch the on-going matches, a bunch of them rushed to the cafeteria to meet their friends and families.

*

_Coach Nakatani whistled and signaled the end of their daily practice. The whole team gathered around the benches to listen to his speech. After mistakes were pointed out, advices and recommendations were given and tacticts were discussed, they were dismissed. The second string and most of the regulars made a run to the showers, while Midorima took his usal position in front of the basket, chest of balls right beside him. He could hear his teammates voices echoing in the locker room and corridors: they were loud enough for him not to hear approaching steps – so when Takao spoke, he was caught off guard and almost missed the shot. The ball bounced heavily on the rim of the basket and then fell in nevertheless._

-          _That was a close call._

-          _You startled me._

-          _Exactly._

_Another ball flew high into the air and dived right through the net in a loud swishing noise. The gym was silent if not for the sound of the ball bouncing and their shoes squeaking on the floor. When Takao spoke again, his tone was deadly serious._

-          _Shin-chan._

_Midorima stopped the shot and touched the ground with the ball still in his hands. He faced Takao. The Hawk-Eye continued:_

-          _What’s wrong?_

_Midorima flinched._

-          _What do you mean?_

-          _Your game is slow, your timing is off, your concentration wavers. Coach noticed, too._

-          _My shots never missed._

-          _That’s not the point. It barely makes a difference during practice, I’m worried about the Cup. What’s wrong?_

Everytime I touch the ball we’re a basket away from our inevitable farewell and I can’t bear the thought.

-          _Apologies. I’ve been feeling a little pressured, lately. It must be that._

_It wasn’t even a lie. Entrance exams were just around the corner and though he had done and was still doing everything he could to be successful, he feared it wouldn’t be enough to be accepted at the prestigious university he had selected._

_Takao studied him, then sighed and took a ball for himself. He bounced it lightly a few times and shot. It hit the ring, the board and finally went in. Takao made a face._

-          _I really want to win the Winter Cup, this year, Shin-chan._

_Midorima blinked._

-          _Me too._

-          _I mean it. Like, for real. I can’t think of anything else. Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m studying too! It’s just… perhaps is this whole captaincy thing, I don’t know. I want to win. I want this team to win. It’s our last chance and I want to hold that Cup, no matter what._

_He had fired another three-pointer. It went in smoothly and the sound of the rebounds filled the gym. Takao turned towards Midorima._

-          _But I can’t do that without my ace, can I?_

_Midorima looked at the ball in his hands and shot. The arc was perfect._

-          _Sorry for being absent-minded. It won’t happen again._

_A strangled noise came from the locker rooms, followed by shouting. An upset face belonging to an equally upset first-year poked into the gym. He looked on the verge of tears. Or sickness._

-          _Captain!!! Miura-kun has puked again!_

_Takao and Midorima shared a look._

-          _I’m coming, Yamada-kun._

_Midorima resumed his solitary practice. Takao stopped at the door and turned a last time, smiling sadly:_

-          _Ehi, Shin-chan._

-          _Mh?_

-          _I didn’t mean to sound patronizing right now, you know. It’s just… I think we’re all feeling a bit pressured at the moment, so let’s try to support each other, okay?_

_Midorima nodded and took his shooting position._

-          _Takao._

_He was already in the corridor._

-          _What?_

_Midorima didn’t look at him and threw another ball._

-          _Trust me._

_Takao laughed again. His smile this time was less tense and more relieved._

-          _Aye, ace-sama!_

_Later that night, Midorima walked home wrapped in a heavy coat and a warm scarf, gloved hands stuffed in his pockets. Winter was going to be hard that year, but the coldness he felt had little to do with the weather. The Cup was a couple of weeks ahead, it would have been a lie to say that he wasn’t trembling in excitement at the thought of it, but there was this sense of doom lying beneath it, a dull pain that was never going away: always there, always eating at his contentment, always ready to strike. It made him feel vulnerable. It made him feel uneasy, unsettled, on the edge. It made him feel alone, because he couldn’t voice it, not really. Not to anybody. Not to Takao._

_Because how could he tell Takao that he dreaded the approaching tournament as much as he looked forward to it, because playing_ their _basketball was amazing and perfect, but the consciousness of that being their last time on the court together was killing him? How could he say to his best friend that the mere thought of going their separate ways in a few weeks froze the air in his lungs? How could he speak of his distress, if it meant admitting out loud what he was trying to hide even to himself?_

_He tightened his hold on the hawk-shaped keychan that was his lucky item for the day –how ironic- and kept walking. An odd lump in his throat made it harder to breathe._

*

Takao followed Midorima, directed to the exit on the other side of the building, the one that looked in the direction of both their homes. Still high with enjoyment, he laced his hands behind his head and laughed to the ceiling.

-          What a wonderful game, Shin-chan! I’m still so excited, I feel like I’m truly invincible right now, don’t you?

Midorima murmured an agreement without enthusiasm and Takao, dumbstruck, looked straigth at him for the first time since they had left the court and recoiled.

Midorima was _sad_.

Or so Takao suspected, because through the years he had seen his friend with a wide range of expressions: he knew what frustration looked like on Midorima’s face, knew the line between his eyebrows when he frowned in concentration, the spark in his eyes when he was focused and excited, the slight up-turn of lips that meant enjoyment, the relaxed jaw that came with peacefulness, the grit of teeth that stood for frustration… but he’d never seen him _sad_.

Taking in the slumped shoulders, though, heavy with a weight he couldn’t discern, the inappreciable trembling of Midorima’s lower lip, the downcast eyes, the defeated gaze, he couldn’t think of another word. His ace was _sad_. Takao felt strangely irritated.

-          What’s with that face, Shin-chan? You don’t really have a right to look so dejected tonight, you know? Non of us has.

Midorima flinched and looked away, disappointed at himself for having been caught. Takao was still watching him with a mixture of concern and anger and Midorima for an awful moment considered telling him the truth. All of it. But his friend’s happiness moments ago had sounded so genuine, his joy so perfect that he couldn’t bring himself to taint it. He settled for an half-truth and hoped it would suffice.

-          I don’t. - he smiled – It was a spectacular last match. Every single one of us did the best they could. The team has never played this good. I couldn’t have hoped for a better game. If anything, it feels a bit like it ended too soon. That, and I’m also exhausted.

He quickened his step not to look at Takao’s face anymore. The latter, relieved, snickered at his words and quietly fell a step behind, Midorima’s sentences ringing in his years.

 *

_The match was coming to an end. Their opponents were going all out and so were they. The pace had been absurdly high and tight for the whole game, the score almost even quarter after quarter. Even at that moment, less than a minute to the siren, there was no way to tell who was going to win: the point war was vicious, the players literally fighting their way to the opposite basket._

_Takao was too concentrated to even feel the exhaustion. His Hawk-Eyes scanned the court relentlessly, looking for an opening, a free man, a clear path to the hoop. He was hyper-aware of his surroindings, to the point he could feel his own eyes prickle and his body moving on its own accord to bring his team to victory. There was literally nothing on his mind but the thought of scoring again, and again, and again._

_His teammates were tired. He could feel Kitahara’s movements under the basket slowing, Yamada’s accuracy wavering, Miura’s resistance crumbling. They were all at their limits and the only reason they still kept up was that their opponents were just as weary as they were. Both their aces were battling fiercely, impressive one-on-ones that they equally won, showing almost no signs of labor, switching from defense to offense in a blink, pulling their team along in a blur of shouts, fakes, screens, miraculous passes and impossible counterattacks. Takao felt dizzy with excitement: being Midorima’s shadow meant holding up that rhythm and doing absolutely anything it took to place the ball in his hands as soon as a split appeared in their opponent’s defense._

_It was in the last seconds of the match that the player he was marking (his fellow point guard, and a damn well good one) misstepped. In less than a blink, he had stolen the ball (later that night, he tried to recall exactly how he had done it, but didn’t find an answer) and was running at top speed through the court._

_His opponents were closing on him and just before he was forced to stop, Takao saw him: Midorima, completely free, the one appointed to mark him on the ground. Before Takao had time to process what had just happened there, Midorima had received a roaring pass and was lifting in the air, ball in his hands._

_Time slowed. Someone tried to stop the shot, but they failed. The ball left Midorima’s hands like it had done countless times during the years and the court fell silent. A quick glance at the clock and they all knew that despite the outcome of the shot, the match was over. Takao’s eyes were fixed on the high arc of the ball and he felt a bit like going back in time, to the very first time he had followed the ridiculous trajectory, mind blanked. The soft whoosh of the net was almost loud to their ears, but the buzzer sound drowned it completely and took them from their reverie._

_The audience started cheering but Takao couldn’t hear a sound. He was still looking at the rolling ball, half a court away from him, then he lifted up his gaze to look at Midorima, who hadn’t moved from his shooting spot. There wasn’t anyone in his line of sight and he had a full view of his green-haired ace looking straight back at him, sporting the most open and vulnerable expression he had ever seen on his face. Takao gulped and turned towards his teammate with his whole body.  His eyes widened._

_Kitahara, Yamada and Miura tackled him, the rest of the team ran to them from the benches and for some amazing, breath-taking minutes it was just group hugs, happy tears and congratulations, high-fives and hand-shakes, hoorays and pure joy._

_In the back of Takao’s mind, though, there was still the image of Midorima, smiling the sweetest, most secret smile he’d ever shown, a disarming smile that hadn’t reached his bright eyes but at the same time had done something very painful to Takao’s stomach, especially when the ace had mouthed something in his direction. A couple of words meant for him and him alone._

Thank you.

*

Takao dropped dead in his tracks and stared at Midorima’s back. Said ace kept walking for a couple of seconds, then felt the lack of steps behind him and turned, voice neutral:

-          Is anything wrong?

Takao blinked. Twice.

-          What? Wrong? No! Uhm…no. I just… er, tripped –well- almost tripped on my shoelace…

Midorima’s face was a mask.

-          Please, be careful.

Takao nodded and they resumed walking.

A few moments later, Takao’s phone buzzed in his pocket: he fished it out and checked the newly received message.

-          Ehi, it’s a text from Miyaji-san! He and Ootsubo-san and Kimura-san came to see the match, Shin-chan! They say we did great and are sorry for not coming to greet us, but they’ll drop by at the celebration party if we tell them the details! I’m definitely calling them, Coach will be so happy to see them too! …oh, wait, isn’t Miyaji-san attending univeristy S? It will be fun to play basketball all together again, won’t it?

-          …-u will.

-          What? Sorry Shin-chan, I didn’t get that.

-          I said ‘you will’ as in ‘you will be the one playing basketball with Miyaji-san again because I’m not going to university S, am I?

That said, Midorima turned his back on him again and started descending the stairs.

-          Ahah! Of course Shin-chan! Sorry, I forgot.

Takao stopped dead in his tracks. _Wait_.

He had, indeed, forgotten. _Wait_.

He was going to attend university S, he would probably apply for the basketball team even if their club was not that serious and committed as Shutoku were, and he would keep playing for fun.

Midorima was going to attend university T to study medicine, in a few weeks basketball would have been, for him, not much more than a way to keep in shape. Even if he did indeed join the basketball club, it was unlikely he’d play in matches. He’d definitely not be on Takao’s team, anyway.

 _Wait_.

Takao suddenly felt dizzy and numb, crashed as if a truck had just driven through him at full speed.

They were over.

They’d just played their last game together.

He’d just made his formal farewell speech and passed the captaincy to someone else.

They’d just officially resigned from the club and, thus, the team.

“Shutoku’s Light and Shadow” was an empty title meant for memories and fond recollections. People would talk about the formidable couple with the same tone he used when recounting tales of Kasamatsu’s most famous achievements. It was already in the past.

 _Wait_.

He frantically scanned Midorima’s figure as he moved slowly down the stairs, one step at a time: the ridiculous green locks, the height, the broad shoulders, the impossible long limbs, the hands. The fingers. Those fingers had, in the last three years, received every single ball he’d threw their way, transformed every single one of his passes in a perfect shot and scored all the baskets, down to the very last one.

 _Wait_.

Placing a ball in those hands was the core of his gameplay and what ultimately defined his basketball: what was he supposed to do on the court without them to give him a goal? What would they do without him to send his roaring passes? He could already envision it: a faceless stranger running up and down the court, sending a ball towards Midorima at the wrong angle, with a completely wrong speed, without any clue of what exactly those fingers were capable of, no inkling of how much of a treasure they were, no idea of the many ways to enhance their natural, prodigious talent, no respect for the force of nature they were, nor for the true miracle behind them.

His blood boiled.

Why hadn’t he paid more attention during the game? Why hadn’t he enjoyed it more? Why hadn’t he savoured every point, every action, every high-five, and every smile? Why had he noticed, really noticed, Midorima only at the very end? Why hadn’t he run to him at the sound of the buzzer, like he always did?

_Wait._

His mind in a fuzzy state, Takao still looked at the boy in front of him, now almost at the bottom of the staircase and headed towards the main doors, and panicked.

They were _over_. The moment they stepped out of the building, the moment Midorima crossed his entrance gate, the moment they parted ways in front of his house, they’d be over. There was still school, yes, but graduation was coming quickly and exams were right around the corner and for the love of god yes, they both needed to focus on those and study for real and seriously think about their future and-

…and Takao found out he couldn’t picture for himself a future Midorima was not part of.

They had eaten together, played basketball together, slept together, gone to school together every morning, bathed together, went out on their free days together, studied together, laughed together, cried together, even puked together one time, during an awful training camp from hell where Nakatani had made them regret the day they’d chosen Shutoku, dreamt together and those times, now, were _over_. Classes kept them in the same room and made them share a big portion of their high-school students’ lives, but basketball had made them _partners_ and basketball was not something they could share anymore.

Takao could already feel their bond straining, the familiarity fading away and giving space to simpathy, politeness, formality, kind distance, mere acquaintance and …he couldn’t bear the thought.

There was a wild tugging at his chest, a feeling he didn’t want and didn’t dare to name clouding his vision and judgement, hundreds of heavy words on the tip of his tongue and thousands of big, scary thoughts jamming in his head and _why didn’t the floor stop spinning so fast_?

Midorima stepped away from the bottom of the stairs and in a flare of pure terror Takao yelled:

-          STOP!!!

*

Midorima swirled around in an istant, alarmed, only to see Takao already halfway down the steps, his bag somewhere at his feet, stretched out towards him, reaching out with his right arm as if his life depended on it.  Midorima didn’t really meant to sound so angry, really, but he was phisically exhausted from the match, mentally distraught by the heavy burden of his thoughts and the object of his affection was not only behaving like the fool he pretended to be, but was weirdly absent-minded on top of that. As he had to remember people around him every now and then, he was human, and as a human he had the right to feel frustrated every once in a while. And desperate, too. Mostly desperate, right now.

-          Just _WHAT_ is it, Takao?

The raw feeling behind those square lenses made Takao recoil, but they shared the same desolation at that moment and it was through that very same desolation that Takao took another step forward:

-          I mean… wait. Wait, Shin-chan. I was –uhm- I was just thinking. Come home with me, will you? Let’s eat at my place. Mom has made plenty of food and you haven’t been around for a while, she’ll be happy to see you. Kazumi too, she’s fond of you.

Midorima didn’t answer right away and Takao pushed one last time:

-          Please, Shin-chan.

Midorima bit his lip and looked away.

-          Yes. All right.

*

Dinner was a light affair: Takao’s mother had indeed made a lot of food and was so excited about having Midorima around that before either of them could utter an apology, an excuse or a muffled protest she’d already phoned the boy’s parents to let them know that their son was spending the night at her place.

-          You boys go on and use the bath while I do the dishes – oh, no, young man, don’t give me that look: you two look like you could use some rest and from what I’ve heard tonight you’ve damn well earned it. Leave the tidying up to me and your sister for once, Kazu, and go relax upstairs, understood? Oh, yes, bring out a spare futon for Shin-chan, will you? You do know where we keep them, I hope. Now out of my way, both of you, I don’t want to see your faces until tomorrow morning, possibly after nine!

-          Yes, Ma’am!

*

-          Go ahead, Shin-chan. I’ll set things up in the meantime. Do you need to borrow some clothes to sleep in?

-          I had a spare change in my bag, it will suffice.

-          Good. Do tell me when you’re finished, will you?

Midorima lingered in the bath. There was no actual reason for it, since they had showered a couple of hours before, but he couldn’t find the strenght to go out again. He’d wanted to go straight home, engage in as less small talk with his family as he could, retreat to his bedroom claiming exhaustion as early as possible, change in his nightwear, curl up in his futon and wallow in his misery until his brain stopped functioning. Instead, he’d let Takao drag him to his place (bad idea) and then he’d let Takao’s mother kidnap him for the night (awful idea): he’d wanted to run away from his classmate right after the post-match fiasco and now he’d found himself bound to Takao until morning at least. He was feeling foolish, doomed and very, very nervous but since he didn’t have anybody else to blame for it but himself, Midorima gritted his teeth and for the n-th time that day repeated in his head Oha Asa’s daily oroscope for the high-ranked Cancer. The day was not over, yet. Though he alrady felt defeated beyond reason, it was undeniable that he still hadn’t done everything in his power to succeed (or, at least, be at peace with himself). Flamed up by sudden resolution, he rushed out of the bath, dressed in a hurry and sprinted in the hallway, almost tripping on Takao’s mother, who’d just come up from the kitchen. She looked faintly amused as he repeatedly bowed his head in apology, face red with embarassment, and placed a gentle hand on his hair.

-          Don’t worry this much, Shin-chan. It’s all right. It’s going to be all right, trust me. And above all, trust yourself.

She walked towards the bedroom, leaving a puzzled Midorima behind. He took a deep breathe and headed towards Takao’s room with a stady step. It was empty. Midorima placed his gym bag near his designated futon and sat, tense to the point of feeling sick, but resolute. It was a matter of justice, it was a matter of fairness, it was a matter of principle: there were words on his tongue that needed to be spoken, even if they meant the definite end, even if he’d be left with nothing but a broken heart to mend. He owed Takao that much. Midorima buried his head in his arms and reharsed his speech one more time.

*

Takao dodged the fluffy pink pillow his sister had playfully throw at him and left her room with a cheerful ‘ _G’night sis!_ ’. He went into the bath still chuckling, but once he’d soaked in silence for a couple of minutes, his thoughts went back to where they’d been all along the evening. He crossed his arms on the edge of the tub and placed his cheek there. What was that iraational fear of losing Midorima forever? It wasn’t like he hadn’t contemplated the chance before: he knew they were going to part ways after high-school and he’d been fine with the idea of keeping in touch with his friend as much as they could with their different schedules… why wasn’t it enough, all of a sudden? Why did the thought of not playing basketball with him anymore hurt that much? Why did he feel that irrational urge to keep Midorima? To leave something, anything, to him, on him, that could prove in the following weeks, months, years, that Takao had been there, part of his life?

A soft knock on the door, followed by his mother voice, distracted him:

-          Are you still there, Kazu?

He rested his head on his arms again. The bored answer came out throaty and muffled:

-          Yeah.

A moment of silence:

-          …are you _decent_?

-          _Mom_! I’m just having a bath!

-          Good! Because I’m coming in!

-          WHAT!? WHY!?

She’d already entered, a huge laundry basket perched at her hip:

-          Because it’s late, I have fresh towels to sort and put back where they belong, dirty clothes to collect and I’d very much like to relax a bit myself before the water gets cold. And don’t even try to act all modest now: I am your mother, you brat.

Takao groaned and didn’t lift his head. Slender fingers ran through his hair in a soothing manner:

-          Kazu.

She was kneeling in front of the tub, their eyes (so very alike in shape, colour and field of vision) leveled. Her gaze pierced through him:

-          Trust you eyes. The answers you’re seeking are right in front of you.

She stared at his bewildered expression, caressed his cheek, kissed his forehead and got up. Once she’d smoothed the wrinkles on her skirt, she turned sternly towards him again, hands on her hips:

-          Now, I’m going to take my pajamas. If by the time I return you’re not out of here I’m kicking your sorry, wet ass upstairs myself!

He laughed a “Roger!” and rushed out of the tub in mock indignation.

 

He came out of the bath in pajama bottoms and a loose t-shirt, a towel casually wrapped around his neck and went up the wooden stairs that brought to his room. Their house, though not very big, had been comfortable and spacious enough for three people, but then Takao’s mother had found out she was pregnant with little Kazumi and at that point their options were narrowed to moving out or trying to accomodate the new family member. In the end, they’d chosen to renovate the loft and turn it into a small, livable attic that had become Takao’s room or, as a lacquered plate on the door said, “The Hawk’s Nest” (he’d obviously liked the arrangement more than expected).

He entered and was surprised to see the room was dark. Midorima had not turned on the light and was currently sitting on the spread out futon, right beside the low window, looking absent-mindedly at the street below. He’d changed into a pair of spare grey sweatpants and a red t-shirt he was currently wiping his glasses with. He was the very same Midorima Takao was used to see every day: the silhouette he knew by heart, the casual movements he’d learned to decipher, the neutral expression he was so accustomed to, the features he could describe with his eyes closed… and yet when Takao’s gaze fell on his friend that late evening, it felt like he was seeing, really seeing him, for the first time. His stomach fluttered almost painfully as he took in the pale skin, bathed in blue moonlight, the bright half-closed eyes, the soft, damp hair, the faintest pink on those smooth cheeks (from the hot bath and perhaps not only that), the long neck, the toned arms, those hands again, the bare feet. And then there was the posture, slumped but with the casual touch of elegance, the grace of someone who had finally grown into their unusually tall body; composed but with tension radiating from him in almost tangible waves.

    
 _You are beautiful_.  
  
It was a silly thought, an obvious statement, but for Takao it had the same impact of a firework exploding in a pitch black sky and before he could stop his brain, the door he’d unconsciously kept locked for months, maybe years, burst open and the only answer he’d been seeking since the game’d ended popped in front of his eyes, crystal clear:

 _You are beautiful and I am in love with you_.

His knees almost gave out and he leaned on the door heavily: it closed behind him with a soft ‘thud’ that startled Midorima; he promptly put his glasses back on, his gesture awkard and a bit frantic, as if he’d just beem caught naked. Takao whispered softly, because had Midorima always looked so…precious?

-          Ehi. 

Midorima answered, looking at his knees. Takao didn’t dare to raise his voice, fearing that, if he’d done it, one or both of them would flee

-          Ehi.  

-          You’ve been awfully quiet today, Shin-chan.   

Midorima eyed him sadly, not even bothering to hide the melancholy. Takao watched him confused and at a loss.

-          Takao…

-          Yes?

-          The… the thing I told you right after the match.

-          Yeah. Sorry for not coming to you right after the buzzer. It made me happy, though. I guess I should thank you too, by the way, we wouldn’t hav-

-          It didn’t mean what you think it meant. Well yes, that too, but actually… I-

Midorima hugged his knees to his chest and leaned against the window, forehead touching the glass, and sighed, looking pointedly outside. This way he didn’t have to see Takao and it would probably make everything easier.

-          I’ve never been… a very sociable person. Not even as a child. Not even after basketball. Let’s-let’s just say popularity never really … _agreed_ with me.

He clenched his fists on the red t-shirt that was his lucky item for the day and took a sheaky breath. Takao had a sudden vision of an awkard eight-years-old Midorima, round glasses on his nose as he’d seen in pictures at his house, weird objects as companions, picking up a basketball on an empty streetcourt, just him and the hoop. His preference for _shooting_ of all things made a terrible lot of sense under that light. Takao’s stomach gave a painful twist. Midorima went on in a monotonous voice.

-          When I entered Teikou I was already used to be …on my own; I joined the basketball club because playing took my head off studying for a while and I was good at shooting. Then I met the others.

Takao swallowed.

-          We trained like everyone and played like everyone, but in the end we made it up the first string. We didn’t really get along that much I think, but …spending so much time together everyday, and winning together like that, and being in their same class… even if they didn’t like me all that much, it was a bit like having friends.

Takao had slided on the floor as well.

-          I don’t think they disliked you, Shin-chan.

-          No, I don’t really think it, either. I suppose not, but that’s not the point. Please, don’t interrupt me, this isn’t easy.

Takao took in the trembling hands, painfully twisted in the red fabric. The head stubbornly and unnaturally turned towards the dark street out of the thick glass.

-          Of course not. I’m sorry, please go on.

Midorima gulped and nodded.

-          It was…nice, I guess. For a while. It didn’t feel that way at the time, but looking back now I think I was… fine. Better than I’d ever been until that point, but then…

Takao knew what had happened then, but waited for him to go on.

-          Then it all started to fall apart, bit after bit, and I didn’t know what to do: the coach was gone, the captain was gone, Aomine stopped showing up, Murasakibara stopped showing up and Akashi was…

He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, taking another deep, calming breath through his nose. Takao thought there was much more history behind that last unfinished sentence but he forced himself to let it go.

-          …Akashi had changed, Kise stopped trying and Kuroko had disappeared. I think I had a little grasp of what was going on between who, but with my own limits and flaws I wasn’t able to do anything but step back and watch as everything went down. It… _hurt_ in a way it had never done, but I didn’t know where that feeling came from, what was its name, so I just shut everything out again. I stopped caring again, and I’m not proud of it, but I didn’t know any other way to make it _stop hurting_ that much. I even considered quitting basketball once. I kept playing, though, because I didn’t want them to have even more power over me and affect my actions more than they’d already did. I had started shooting for myself, I kept doing it for the same reason in the end. And then you came along.

Takao was stunned silent. There was a traitorous prickle at the back of his eyes but he ignored it. Midorima swallowed and twistened his shirt more.

-          You _stayed_.  – he said simply – I acted like I always did and you _stayed_. You were there, all the time: in class, at the gym, after practice and you were doing it for yourself, yes, but you were always, _always_ there. You went through my lucky items, my selfish requests, my training schedule… you went through _me_ … and you _stayed_.

Takao opened his mouth to speak but MIdorima held up a hand as he struggled for the words. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper:

-          I had forgot what it meant to have fun playing basketball. _You_ made me remember. It’s… you kind of… brought me back. I feel like I was going down a very dangerous path and you...grabbed me before it was too late.

He sighed and rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window:

-          Thank you, for staying with me.

He glanced at Takao with suspiciously misty eyes and managed a small smile before looking away again and clearing his throat.  

-          After tonight, I thought I owed you that much.

_I’m madly, desperately, hopelessly in love with you._

Takao half stumbled, half crawled towards Midorima and crouched in front of him. He placed his hands on top of Midorima’s fists, still clinging on the wrinkled shirt and searched his face. He wasn’t able to think properly and didn’t trust his voice at all, but he had to speak:

-          Shin-chan. Shin-chan, please, look at me.

Midorima turned with a grimace.

-          I need to make sure of something, but in order to do so, I also need you to take off your glasses for a moment. Can you do that for me?

Midorima looked at him with a familiar expression of bewilderment but nodded nevertheless, his face red, and complied with trembling hands. As soon as the spectacles were safe in the low window sill, Takao rised to his knees, murmured a soft “ _Tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop_ ” and slowly hugged Midorima to his chest.

*

His friend went stiff in his arms and for a couple of frightening seconds Takao thought he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life, but then he felt Midorima’s hands brushing against his stomach and travel to his back. A moment later, he was gently pulled forward as Midorima tentatively returned the embrace.

They stayed like that for a while, breathing heavily and taking in the true meaning of what was just transpiring between them. Midorima’s arms were hot and unmoving on Takao’s back, his hands gripping Takao’s shirt firmly. Takao was cradling Midorima’s head and running his fingers through those green locks in a soothing caress.

-          I-I haven’t such a big story to tell, honestly. Yes, I _stayed_. Because it was worth it. You were worth it.

Midorima jerked his head up to look at him but Takao, for once taller, kept stroking his hair:

-          You were probably not aware of it, but you’ve always set a pretty high standard for all of us, you know. Always practicing, always striving to do your best. You pulled us along: we wouldn’t have got half that better if you hadn’t set the bar so high. I’ve challenged myself everyday to play with you. I’ve gone beyond every single one of my limits because of you and I would have never dared to do it if you hadn’t been there, pushing me all the time. I’m not talking only about basketball, you know. If you’d told me I was going to apply to university S a couple of years ago, I would have laughed in your face.

He chuckled and tucked Midorima under his chin again. The hands on his back tightened their hold. He pressed his lips on top of the green head. His stomach gave a jolt. Words were tumbling out of his mouth and he wasn’t able to stop them:

-          You’ve pulled some weird stunt through the years, we have to admit it, but yes. I _stayed_. I _wanted_ to stay. I _still_ want to stay…

Midorima’s reply, though muffled, reached Takao all the same:

-          I want you to stay too.

*

Takao didn’t dare to move. He felt a bit at a loss, actually: as it sank in that he was, indeed, in love with his best friend, that he felt attracted to him and that he was currently holding the object of said affection, (unbelievably obedient and pliant for once) in his arms, Takao realized with a twinge of panic that he didn’t know what to do. Hence, he did nothing. He stayed still, pressed close to Midorima, breathing in sync with him, trying to calm down. There was another heart thumping wildly againsty his chest and Takao marveled at the fact that he _knew_ that beat: as well as the steady rhythm of the lungs filling under his hands, the peculiar scent of soap that he could smell on green hair and pale skin, the soft sounds that came with every intake of breath, the solid form in front of him. It was all so new, but at the same time it was so familiar too…

Midorima was aware that his brain had short-circuited the moment Takao had hugged him, because after several moments he was still unable to form a coherent thought. He couldn’t really believe he’d been the one to murmur those words at Takao’s stomach and he couldn’t really process Takao’s answers in a way that made sense, but there were indeed arms around his shoulders and neck, hands cradling his head and a slim body he’d learned to know so well pressed tight against his. He recognized Takao’s frantic breathing, could feel the rapid up and downs of his ribcage and the hot puffs of air above his left ear, the same movements and sounds that usually came with physical exertion (but not too much: it was the kind of out-of-breathe Takao had after a short run, not the going-to-collapse-on-the-spot one that followed Nakatani’s training regimen); he could feel, through the skin that had made contact with Takaos throat, his friend’s pulse, totally out of control, and could smell (under the fresh soap) Takao’s distinctive scent, the one that stuck to his sweaty clothes after practice, that lingered on his skin in the summer heat, that had filled Midorima’s nostrils whenever they’d shared a seat, a futon, a table. Midorima was _definitely_ sure his brain had short-circuited. He couldn’t otherwise explain the sudden urge he had to nuzzle that very same spot, inhaling deeply, and to kiss Takao’s pulse at the same time. The sudden feeling of lips on his skin took Takao by surprise and _almost_ made him squeak. He instinctively jerked back; Midorima let him go and clasped a hand over his own mouth, guilty and self-conscious. They stared at each other wide-eyed and slightly terrified, panting and trying, invane, to regain their composure, some sense, some kind of self control… _anything_. Midorima muttered a full litany of half-muttered apologies behind his hands, eyes watering in panic, shame and bashfulness. Takao numbly shook his head and knew that his rational, sensible self had lost the battle for the night. He took a resolutiv breath and _pounced._ Midorima thanked the heavens for his naturally good reflexes, because in the blink of an eye Takao had slammed at full force into him and, hadn’t he been ready, they would have tumbled on the floor quite painfully. That wasn’t his main concern, though, not with Takao leaning fully on him, fingers digging into his scalp, lips on every inch of skin he could reach: butterfly kisses that tickled his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, the top of his head, his jaw, the corner of his mouth - Midorima turned his head at that, touching Takao’s lips with his own and effectively stealing the quickest peck. Takao, suddenly conscious again, hid his face on Midorima’s shoulder, holding onto him like his life depended on it: his mind was spinning too fast, his senses were derailing and he latched onto his friends like a drowning man. Midorima locked him into an embrace again, preventing any escape this time, and leaned his head against Takao’s, nuzzling a bit in a way Takao shouldn’t have found so comforting, intimate and _familiar_. The words were low and a bit distant, as if Midorima was, after all, talking to himself:

-          …what are we doing?

Takao swallowed and spoke to Midorima’s collarbone, the answer clear in his mind, final in its simplicity:

-          What we’ve been doing for the past three years, I suppose… although a bit differently, I’ll give you that.

Midorima placed his lips on Takao’s temple, lightly and gently, keeping the contact as feather-like as possible, then trailed them along Takao’s cheek and ear. Takao lifted his head one last time, resolute and quite solemn, and they stared at each other without blinking, air heavy with unspoken desire and static with tension. They leaned towards one another at the same time and met halfway, closing the gap between them once for all. *

Midorima’s lips were soft against his own, the first kiss simple and gentle, almost friendly in its chastity, but it was enough to light sparkles in Midorima’s stomach and take the breath away from Takao. One kiss led to another, and then another, soft touches of lips that felt soothing and natural and a bit like coming home after a day spent worrying outside, and before they were aware of it, Takao had clutched Midorima’s shirt at his chest and Midorima had placed his hands on Takao’s, cradling them in his bigger palms while their mouths spontaneously opened to one another. At the foreign feeling of another toungue in his mouth, tough, Midorima stilled, stunned, and Takao nibbled at his bottom lip, flushed, before understanding that the pause was not due to lack of breath and seemed permanent. He recognized the troubled look on Midorima’s face (and the way he was biting his lips didn’t promise anything good) so it was with practiced tact that Takao whispered:

-          Ehi. What’s wrong?

Midorima, always so stubborn, refused to answer and firmly avoided his gaze, staring at a wrinkle on the futon, face and neck as reda s his shirt. Takao squeezed his hands once, reassuring.

-          It’s just… I don’t…I-I’ve never..how do…

A wave of pure tenderness washed over Takao, who had to fight the urge to jump on that timid, _adorable_ wonder that was Midorima at his most awkward and settled for squeezing his hands again, forcing him to look up as he whispered:

-          Shh. Don’t fret. It’s alright. It’s okay. I mean… Shin-chan, it’s _me_. It’s _you and me_. – he chuckled – We’ve mastered a ridiculous mid-air-pass-‘n-shoot three-point action in our freshmen year… I’m sure we can manage _this_. – he purposely avoided saying ‘kissing’ outloud.

Midorima looked at their joined hands and then at Takao again. He arched an eyebrow:

-          We practiced a lot for that.

Takao’s grin turned feral:

-          _Exactly_.

*

If someone, just half an hour before, had told Takao that he was going to find himself in such a position, he would have laughed it off as a joke. _True_ , Midorima had gotten the knack of making out surprisingly fast and was actually doing a hell of a good job with it, and _true_ , it had been Takao’s idea to literally straddle Midorima’s lap when things had heated up enough, effectively pressing their body together: so much that he could feel every single one of Midorima’s hard muscles against his own. He’d expected their breaths to become more laboured, the sighs to gradually turn into moans; he had expected the touches to grow bolder (and the large hands wandering under his shirt were testament to his accurate previsions); he had expected the surge of lust, as teenage libido finally kicked in, that hot rush of raw need that made his damp skin burn, his head dizzy and clouded, his cock full. He had _not_ expected Midorima, clumsy, nervous, shy, innocent Midorima, to grab him possessively and flip them over forcefully, so that he could hover on Takao’s supine form. He hadn’t expected his ace to settle between his spread knees and align their bodies so thoroughly, hands still caressing his sides under the thin fabric of his shirt, mouth on Takao’s neck, delicious pressure in just the right places. He hadn’t expected Midorima to take such a liking for the sensitive spots behind his ears, so when those wicked fingers stopped scratching only to be replaced by an insanely talented tongue, the throaty, loud groan that escaped Takao’s lips was the most genuine sound he’d ever let out. Midorima smirked to himself and kissed him again, propped up onto his elbows.

Takao had never been the type to back off a challenge when he saw one, so it was with sick pleasure that he sought his revenge, bucking his hips high and enjoying both the friction and the surprised hiss it tore from Midorima. Said boy looked at him with burning eyes that Takao knew very well: it was the same gaze reserved for though opponents and critical games, the one for decisive three-pointers and crucial actions; it was that look of utter concentration and total focus Midorima sported on the court when he went all-out, his entire self moved by the thought of blasting his opponents off. Takao swore he could feel that gaze physically piercing him on the thin mattress, so much that he just had to divert it or (he was sure) he was going to get burned; thus, he did it again: he rolled his hips up one more time and basked again in Midorima’s open reaction. And because he was a tease at nature, always pushing the right buttons to elicit the wanted response, he sneaked his hands up Midorima’s red shirt and trailed them over the toned chest in a languid caress. Midorima’s guttural growl as he plunged down again went straight to Takao’s groin. He was anchored to the floor by Midorima’s large frame, but the weight was welcomed, for it meant a comforting warmth spread all over his body, sculpted muscles laid out for him to feast on, contact deepened with the smallest of movements. Takao had no memory of the moment he took the initiative, but he saw his feet bracing the mattress and his legs working as leverage in the effort to push his hips upwards one more time.

Midorima gasped in his ear, but much to Takao’s surprise he didn’t still like the previous times: instead, he rolled his own hips against Takao’s in a calculated way, a deliberate action that in a few moments had them engaged in a tentative exchange, the rhythm wobbly, the pace slow, the ondulating motions languid and experimental, the thrill of discovery making up for every wrong move, pleasure washing over them in waves and growing stronger and steadier at every rustle of fabric, every clothed touch of their erections, until something finally snapped and Takao was lost in a maelstrom of sensations: movements grew erratic, kisses bordered on desperate, all teeth and wetness and shared breathes; Takao felt drunk, all five senses overwhelmed at once, a familiar tightening in his belly the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground. He fell over the edge with a strangled sound, holding onto Midorima’s trembling shoulders for dear life and let himself be swept away by the afterglow, as Midorima above him thrusted up a couple of times more before growing taut as a bowstring and slumping forward with a grunt. Takao caught him and didn’t let go, too stunned to speak, eyes wide to the ceiling. Midorima was still supporting himself on his elbows, though a bit shakily, face pressed against Takao’s neck as Takao leisurely stroked his spine, waiting for them both to ricover, but with no actual rush to do so. He felt strangely peaceful and it had little to do with the superficial satisfaction that came with physical release. As a teenage boy Takao was familiar enough with orgasms to say that in the past few weeks jerking off had helped him to sleep better, but it hadn’t really taken away that weird tension, that perpetual anxiety that had gnawed at him all day long for weeks. At the time he’d blamed the pressure from basketball and studying, though now he realized it could have been someting else entirely. He shifted a little to have a better hold of the boy in his arms, solid, willing and so very _real_ in his embrace. And _mine_ , Takao thought with a mixture of fear and relief. _Nobody else’s_. _Mine_.

*

-          You _lied_ to me.

Of all the things he’d imagined Takao could say after that, that wasn’t contemplated. Midorima lifted himself up enough to look at Takao and blinked. Twice.

-          What?

-          You heard me. Come on, where’s the black list?! I know you lied to me!

Midorima frowned a bit while he kept staring at the boy under him like he’d sprouted another head. Though he had to admit that acting genuinely puzzled was far easier than trying to cope with the embarassment in a cool way.

-          What the hell are you talking about?! What list?!

Takao pouted.

-          This isn’t the skillset of someone that has never done it before, you liar!

Midorima caught the mischievous sprakle in Takao’s eyes and the playful smile tugging at his lips, and since he was feeling lighter than ever, strangely at ease and inexplicably content, he grinned himself and lifted an haughty eyebrow:

-          Well, they do call us  _Miracles_ , in case you haven’t noticed…

Takao’s jaw dropped and for an unforgettable moment, he was speechless:

-          You..! You … _jerk_!

He pushed himself up and flipped them over, straddling Midorima again and tickling his sides in earnest:

-          You conceited little _shit_! You presumptuous, arrogant _brat_! “ _Miracle_ ” my ass, annoying bast-

He froze.

Midorima was laughing. _Midorima_ was _laughing_. Not the brief snort that usually went with a slight twitch of lips, but a full, rich sound that came directly from his belly, unfiltered and unstoppable. It made Midorima’s body shake in the effort to be contained, it made his eyes shine and it forced his mouth to open in the most sincere, happy, _perfect_ smile Takao had ever seen.  
  
And at that precise moment, on the rumpled futon in his small and cold bedroom, with the scent of sweat and sex still lingering in the air and a total mess in his pants, Takao’s heart leapt out of his chest and fluttered right into Midorima’s flawless and safe hands for good. He laid himself on top of the other boy, ignoring the other’s protests and the growing discomfort in his clothes, locking their mouths together again, tasting that precious smile and offering his own in return.

*

Takao’s mother looked up from the book she was reading and glanced at the ceiling. There was another loud tump followed by voices and laughter. She turned towards the alarm clock on the bedside table: it was still early, no need to call them out for the noise, yet. Besides, Kazumi (if she were asleep in the first place, which she doubted) could sleep through a hurricane, so no worries there. The noises above her resumed, more soft thumping followed by a mild shuffling (‘ _What are you doing to that poor futon, Kazu?_ ’) and some steps. She heard the door of Kazu’s bathroom open and close a couple of times and the springs of her son’s bed creaking (‘ _Perhaps we should buy him a new one_ …’). She chuckled to herself and turned the page of her book with a knowing smile. _Boys_.

*

Midorima woke up at dawn. They hadn’t closed the shutters and the first rays of light were filtering through the window. It didn’t bother him. He had slept well despite the uncomfortable position (Takao’s bed was too small for two people their sizes, but still) and was feeling relaxed and well-rested, a state of mind he hadn’t experienced in a while. Curled up on his right side, back pressed to wall, Midorima looked at the sleeping boy beside him, mirroring his position, accidentally the only thing in the room he could focus on without glasses. Memories of the night came to him in random order in his slumber: they’d cleaned up in Takao’s little bathroom, an operation made long and complex by the incessant, mutual teasing and their actual incapacity to stay apart and keep their hands off each other for more than five seconds; boiling spirits sated, they’d realized just how _cold_ the room was and Takao had made a beeline for his bed and the dark, heavy, soft duvet on top of it, pulling Midorima along and refusing to let him sleep on the floor. Midorima had weakly tried to persuade him to take the duvet off the bed and bring it to the futon, where they both could have had more space, but Takao had just looked at him through slitted eyes and shoved him roughly on the bed, burying him under the duvet for good measure. Once settled (yes, well, more or less), they’d chatted a bit in hushed tones, idle chatter under the cozy warmth of the covers and shared body heat, pausing every now and then just to steal one more kiss, one fond caress, another casual touch. Takao had been lazily playing with his fingers all the while, casually tugging on them, holding them between his own, stroking them lightly, pinching the nuckles at times, and in the end they’d succumbed to sleep with their hand still linked; Midorima looked fondly at their intertwined fingers and felt his free, unbandaged hand itch: he brought it up, slowly, towards their upturned palms and let it hover on Takao’s white wrist; after what felt like an eternity, he trailed his digits up and down across the tender, pale skin that led to Takao’s elbow, savouring its smoothness and smiling at the faintest rise of goosebumps. There was something inexplicably gratifying in all of that: lounging in a too small bed, burrowed under an old duvet of undefined colour, the boy he was so… _fond_ of breathing evenly and quietly in front of him, being able to touch him like that, without a second thought nor a hidden motive, without needing an excuse… just because he _could_ , just because the touch was welcomed, just because in that little, cold room there was nobody but them…

 _There_. He’d done it again. Not even twenty minutes of consciousness andhe’d already started to overthink things and put himself in a sour mood. _Good job, Shintarou_. Without stopping his tender stroking, he looked at Takao’s sleeping face, oblivious and relaxed, black thin hair fanning around on the pillow. He didn’t want his thoughts to turn gloomy so early in the morning, not with such sight in front of him, but it was in his nature to be always prepared for the worst and he couldn’t help it; truth was, he hadn’t really believed that things with Takao could really have worked the way they had, he hadn’t _dared_ to hope it, and that had helped keeping the worst issues at bay: he’d been too invested in his unrequited, forbidden feelings to actually think about what a … _whatever it was_ …with Takao would imply, but now that that particular burden had been lifted off his shoulders and his heart was re-learning to beat properly, he had no means to stop his self-destructive mind. Midorima basked in the peacefulness and sense of safety radiating from Takao, while poisonous thoughts of ‘ _Freaks of Nature_ ’, ‘ _Society_ ’ and ‘ _Your Family_ ’ crept up and unsettled him. He tried to exorcise them with feather-like strokes on Takao’s cheek, counting the pale freckles on his nose, tracing the thin line of his lips.

A light blue eye peeked at him behind dark lashes and Midorima sighed.

-          Hullo.

-          Hi. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.

Takao shook his head sleepily onto the pillow, the turned towards the hand on his face and kissed its palm before leaning into the caress for an istant and flopping back a moment later, smiling sweetly.

-          Wuzzup? Wut time ‘s it?

-          It’s still early. Go back to sleep.

Takao placed his free hand on top of Midorima’s and wriggled a bit more under the covers. He kept staring back at Midorima though, blinking sleepily every now and then but without really closing his eyes again. Midorima scooted more under the duvet himself. It was _cold_ up there.

-          I was just… thinking a bit.

Takao studied him with a serious face, eyes hard and sharp as ever.

-          _A few hours_.

-          Mh?

-          I promise you we’ll talk. We kinda have to. Just… in a few hours, okay?

Midorima nodded, squeezing his hands. Takao nodded back and moved forward, throwing an arm round Midorima’s waist and effectively buring himself in his chest. Midorima draped his left arm over Takao’s shoulder and kissed the top of his head.

There were things to sort out and conversations to be had, decisions to make and paths to choose and none of it was going to be easy or simple, but Midorima reminded himself (with a bit of surprise at his own uncharacteristic demeanour) that he was, indeed, _not_ alone in it, never had been, actually, and that maybe, just _maybe_ , there was some place for hope after all; he realized (and the relief was so great that it made him feel disoriented for a while) that whatever fate the heavens had reserved him, he wasn’t going to be let down again. Not that time. Not with _him_. And it was almost enough like that.  
Takao mumbled something that sounded too much like his name in his sleep and hugged him tighter. Midorima glanced at the clock one last time and curled protectively around Takao.

 _The world could wait a little longer_.

  
  
*

\- Shin-chan, let’s take the rickshaw to go to the party!

Midorima frowned.

-          We’re still playing rock-paper-scissors for it.

Takao laughed.

-          I wouldn’t have it any other way!


End file.
